Beloved Impostor

by Patricia Potter

She would be trying to slip away tonight. The thought of seeing neither Rory nor Alina again only intensified the agony she felt. She wouldn’t know if Alina would run, or if Rory would love once more. She wouldn’t know whether Lachlan would finally find his place, or if Moira ever learned to cook.

  It was startling to her that she could come to care so much in such a short period of time. She wondered whether it was because her heart had been waiting to open, to find a place. Why did God open it here?

  She started to sing a song, a sad one about unrequited love.

  “No,” Alina said. “The one you sang before.”

  Felicia started to hum, then the words came. Tender and loving. Comforting. She wished it would wipe away the hurt inside. She suspected nothing could.

  Lachlan rode with a troop of Macleans. They were to patrol the border between their land and the Camerons. The Camerons had once been allies, but a marriage between the Cameron lass and a Campbell would create an alliance that bode no good for the Macleans. Archibald and Douglas had hoped to nullify that alliance with a marriage between Lady Janet and Rory.

  Lachlan feared they may have made it worse.

  The Campbells apparently had felt safe enough to pass over Cameron land to raid Maclean villages. The fact that Macleans had stolen the Cameron lass and must return her without marriage could well destroy any hope of an alliance.

  He and his fellow clansmen had been sent by Rory to patrol for intruders, for a marauding Campbell or Cameron troop. Feeling totally inadequate for the task, he’d tried to demur. But Rory had threatened to go himself, and his brother was obviously not well enough yet. Lachlan would not be responsible for the death of yet another Maclean lord.

  He was to patrol half of the border, Archibald the other half.

  The night was cold but the sky was clear, the full moon lighting the gorse-covered hills.

  Lachlan’s troop visited the village that had been burned. They were already rebuilding. He left two men there to help, then left two more men to guard a road that wound between the hills.

  There was only one more pass. He would leave two more men there.

  The first slivers of dawn pierced the darkness as he looked down at the pass from a vantage point above. He was about to position two men to guard the pass when he saw movement.

  He peered downward. A man on a dark horse rode through the pass. He seemed to cling to the shadows of the terrain.

  Lachlan considered the possibilities. Most Scots were afoot. That meant the man below was of rank, or was a valued soldier.

  A Campbell spy?

  Or a Cameron?

  Mayhap neither.

  An image flitted through his head. Three years ago. An encounter with a group of armed men …

  He was not going to allow that to happen again.

  He gestured to two of the three men with him to circle around so that the man would be surrounded. Then he mounted and rode down to accost the man himself.

  He put a hand on his sword. He, like his brothers, had undergone training. Unlike them, he’d never had the inclination to use it.

  He rode the horse down the hill and reached the road just as the horseman appeared from behind a rocky edge.

  Dawn had spread across the eastern part of the sky, and Lachlan saw the crest. A Cameron.

  His gaze went to the face, and he froze.

  He’d gone to Edinburgh with his father eight years ago. He had been but a lad. Rory had already gone to sea. Patrick had been left at Inverleith to guard the Maclean properties.

  His father had pointed a young man out to him. “There is the spawn of the devil,” he’d said.

  It had been Jamie Campbell.

  The same man who approached him now.

  Chapter 13

  In the dawn’s early rays, Jamie saw recognition—sudden awareness—on the face of the young man who faced him.

  He swore as a second man appeared to his left and another to his right. He would be a good catch for the Macleans. A large ransom would be demanded if indeed his life wasn’t forfeit.

  It went against his training to submit meekly. His hand went to the hilt of his sword, and he saw the Maclean in front of him do the same. As did the two men with him.

  None of the three looked to be particularly dangerous. Jamie had trained his entire life. He was expert with the sword, and his horse was skilled in war and recognizing even the slightest signal.

  He was not going to go down without a fight.

  As he drew his sword, so did the others.

  He decided to go for the leader first. He looked the youngest and least skilled. And if the leader was eliminated, his men might well disappear into the hills.

  He touched his heels to his mount, turning the gelding ever so slightly, then charged his opponent. To his surprise, the rider easily avoided his charge, skillfully moving his horse away just in time to avoid a blow.

  Too late, he became aware of still a fourth man. He felt himself being dragged down from behind, and then three more men were on him. He fought back, frantically searching for the sword, but it was gone.

  And then everything went black.

  Felicia stayed with Alina until the child went to sleep. She was tired beyond words, both in body and soul. She was aware that a tear trickled down her cheek, and she ignored it.

  She did not want to go back to her room. She could not sleep. She knew she needed to stay away from Rory. Just before dawn, she would go to her room, don the lad’s clothes, and slip down to a place she could hide until a party left the keep. She hoped she could meld in with them.

  Until then, she wanted to stay with Alina, to feel needed and wanted a few hours longer.

  Alina’s mother entered the room with a bowl of soup.

  “She is sleeping,” Felicia said as softly as possible.

  “The soup can wait then.” The older woman paused, then added, “Ye have been so kind. I will no’ forget ye. Nor will Alina.”

  “It is very easy to be kind to her. She has so much courage.”

  “Ye can leave now, my lady. I will sit by her.”

  Felicia looked at the woman’s drawn face. She had spent the day trying to earn her way by taking over the cooking chores from Moira, who was still looking after the wounded.

  “I would like to stay here with her,” she said. “Why do you not get some rest?”

  The woman nodded gratefully, but her expression was still unsure. “Ye are a great lady, and we …”

  Felicia swallowed hard. How many times had she passed villages without really looking at the people? She had tried to be thoughtful to the servants at Dunstaffnage, and she had often tended wounded with the healer, but there had always been an invisible line she’d been expected to honor. Now she doubted that line. Why should an accident of birth make someone more or less than another?

  “You need your rest, and everyone knows that Inverleith needs a cook,” Felicia said. “You canna do it here, not with listening every second for every breath. Use my chamber. It is next to here, and I will call you if there is any change.”

  “I canna’ do that.”

  “Aye, you can,” Felicia said. “You would be doing me a boon.”

  The woman nodded, tears shimmering in too-old eyes. “No one knew whether to hope when Lord Rory returned home. I will tell them ’tis a good thing. I hope ye stay, Lady Janet.”

  She left, and the words lingered in the room.

  Felicia went to the window. She had not gone down to the great hall for supper. She did not want to see the men who had such high hopes for a marriage for their laird. Nor did she wish to see the heightened activity as those in the keep made preparations for a possible siege.

  She continued to stare down at the courtyard. Macleans were leaving with carts and returning with them filled with food and grain. But in addition to the regular sentries, there were two men at the gate, checking as each man left and returned.

  Families had evidently been ordered to come into the keep from outlying vill
ages.

  Because of her? Because Rory had sensed her reluctance to return? Because she had led him to believe she did not wish to marry Jamie Campbell. Or was it because of recent Campbell raids? Her family’s vendetta against the Macleans. Either way she felt responsible.

  And soon he would discover who she was. She was amazed that as yet there seemed to be no outcry about her disappearance. She vowed to escape the keep tonight. Then all could get back to normal. And if she could not find a way, then it was time, well beyond the time, to reveal that she was a Campbell.

  She had no idea what would happen then. No doubt, Rory Maclean would feel betrayed. Would he try to hold her hostage? If so, the long-lasting feud would explode into war. Her uncle had been waiting for an opportunity, held back only by King James’s edict. He had allowed William the occasional raid but all-out war was not something James wanted, with a hostile English king across the border. It was understood that it was only a matter of time before the two countries went to war with each other, and James needed all the clans he could pull together.

  Her supposed abduction would give her uncle all the reason he needed to attack.

  But holding her hostage went against everything she had learned about the Macleans. About Rory and Lachlan, and even Archibald and Douglas. They were decent men.

  But then she’d thought the Campbells were as well. And yet both clans over the years had inflicted murder and rape and misery on the other. She truly did not know what either would do now.

  She went back to sit with Alina.

  And finally her eyes closed.

  Lachlan stared at their captive. He was still unconscious from the blow one of Lachlan’s companions had leveled.

  He thanked God that the man still breathed. He did not even want to think what might happen if Angus Campbell learned the Macleans had killed his only son and heir.

  “Bind him,” he ordered the others who were in much more of a mood to kill the Campbell.

  Rory would know what to do.

  At least, Lachlan hoped to God that Rory would know what to do.

  He knew what he would do. He would find out why a Campbell had been so reckless as to venture onto Maclean land and then release him. Without ransom. A gesture of goodwill.

  But a previous gesture of goodwill had led to his father’s death.

  Lachlan had lost confidence in his own judgment then. He had never regained it. He had always wanted to see the best in everyone. Unfortunately, he had learned that some had no best.

  He sighed.

  For now, he could only hope the capture of the Campbell would do more good than harm, but he feared that was false hope. Nor did he know how the capture would affect Janet Cameron. She was, after all, the man’s betrothed.

  He wished she had confided in him. Something other than the Macleans frightened her. Whether it was the man on the ground or no’, he did not know. He did know he did not want to take the man back to Inverleith until he knew more.

  “There is a deserted croft two miles east of the keep,” he said. “Take him there. Keep him well bound. Rory will have your heads if he escapes.”

  “Aye,” one man said with new respect.

  Lachlan looked at the bound Campbell on the ground. It had taken four of them to take him.

  Lachlan knew he did not deserve the respect.

  Felicia jolted awake and glanced at the window. Light flooded through. It was past dawn. Well past dawn. She could not believe she had slept.

  She glanced down at Alina. Asleep. Which was a miracle. Felicia wished she could take on the child’s pain and absorb it. But Alina had finally gone to sleep, and so, apparently, had she.

  Had she lost her chance to escape?

  “Moira said you were here,” Rory said from the door where he leaned against the wall, watching her with brooding eyes. “Do you not believe in sleep?”

  “I think I just was,” she said with a croak. How long had he been there watching her? Had his entrance been what awakened her?

  He gave her a half-smile. “You look as if you’ve had no sleep at all.”

  “That is not very gallant.”

  “You look appealing when you are tired,” he said. The smile disappeared as if he had not meant to say those words.

  But she clutched them to her heart. No one had ever called her appealing.

  “You need rest and food,” Rory said. “I am told you did not go to supper last night nor did you eat this morning.”

  “I wanted to stay with Alina,” she said.

  He had shaved, or someone had shaved him. He wore a clean linen shirt and was wearing a plaid rather than trews. His face was still flushed slightly, and he wore his arm in a sling. The shirt bulged over the bandage on his arm.

  “Moira says it is better,” he said, obviously noting the direction of her stare. “She is making me wear a poultice, though,” he said. “It makes me smell like a moldy tree.”

  It was the first time she had heard him try to be amusing or anything but the stern, uncompromising leader of his clan. “You should be abed as well,” she said.

  “There is too much to do. Archibald and Lachlan are patrolling the borders, and others are warning the crofters.”

  “You really believe Inverleith will be attacked?”

  He nodded wearily. “The Campbells raided one of our villages. We stole our cattle back. And they raided again. Something has been started that cannot be stopped.” He paused, then said softly, “I had hoped …”

  “Hoped what?”

  “To bring peace, but now I think it was a foolish aim. How do you stop a century of hatred?” His eyes were full of pain, and failure.

  “I want to go back,” she said.

  “Not until I know you will be safe,” he said.

  “I will be,” she lied.

  “I’ve sent someone to the Camerons,” he said.

  “Yes, you told me,” she said, aware that he did not know that was one reason she had to flee.

  She stood. She knew immediately it was a mistake. She had meant to avoid him these last few hours. She had meant not to think about Rory Maclean and what might have been.

  Nothing might have been. If she hadn’t run away, and if Archibald hadn’t tried to take matters into his own hands, she would not have met him. She would never have known the way a heart could swell, and her body could tingle, and blood could run warm and sweet.

  She might never have known the jolt that rocked her each time she was in his presence.

  Was this love?

  It could not be. People did not find themselves in love in a week. Yet he was everything she thought noble in a man. Strong. Courageous. Yet also concerned for the weak. Loyal to his people. Committed to peace.

  How would he view a liar?

  But the now familiar current passed between them, sweeping them up in its pull. She saw it in his eyes, even as she felt its intensity.

  She reached out to touch his cheek. “You no longer look like an outlaw,” she said.

  He smiled crookedly, the dimple in his chin deepening. “Looks can be deceiving.”

  “Not always,” she said.

  Sorcery. Nothing else could account for the way her body moved toward him, into his, or the way she rested her head on his shoulder.

  His hand caressed her face and moved to the back of her neck. Her mind cried no, but her body wouldn’t heed the warning. It was too caught up in all the exquisite feelings he evoked in her.

  “Janet,” he whispered.

  The softly spoken word, much like an endearment, brought her back to reality.

  She jerked free with such force that she stumbled, and his hand steadied her. His face was filled with bafflement.

  She knew he wanted an explanation, but she was saved by a knock on the door.

  He stared at her for a moment, then strode to the door and opened it.

  Lachlan stood there. His gaze went from his brother to Felicia, then back again.

  “Rory,” he said. “You are needed
downstairs.”

  “What is it?”

  Lachlan shrugged. “A decision must be made.”

  She watched the two brothers silently communicate, then Rory nodded.

  “I must go,” he told her.

  Before she could ask a question, he left.

  Something of import had happened. Had Lachlan discovered who she really was?

  Her heart hammered in her chest. Whatever had happened, she had the very bad feeling that it bode no good for her.

  Rory looked at the prisoner.

  Jamie Campbell sat on the dirt floor of a croft. His hands were tied behind him, and his legs bound in front of him.

  Rory knew that he must be in pain from the position. But all he saw was anger.

  “You are Jamie Campbell,” he said. He had never seen Campbell, though he lived but thirty miles away. The two clans had nothing to do with each other, other than the raids they inflicted on one another. If Lachlan had not recognized him …

  “Aye.”

  “What were you doing on Maclean land?”

  Campbell was silent. The Macleans who stood on either side of him moved in a threatening gesture.

  “No,” Rory said.

  Campbell looked surprised. He raised an eyebrow in question, and Rory found himself admiring the man.

  “Leave us,” he told the two men with him.

  They hesitated, then filed out the door. Only Lachlan remained.

  Rory stooped down and cut the ropes on his prisoner’s ankles.

  Jamie Campbell stretched them, then looked at his captor warily. “Whom do I have the … pleasure of addressing?”

  Rory could not help but grin at the impudence.

  “Rory Maclean.”

  “I did not know you had returned.”

  Rory shrugged. “You did not answer my question. Why are you on Maclean properties?” He looked at the Cameron crest, and the plaid with distinctive Cameron dyes. “And in Cameron plaid?”

  He knew why. Campbell was looking for his betrothed. What he didn’t know is why an emissary from the Camerons had not approached him.

  But how much did Campbell know?

  Campbell shifted. “Would you cut these ropes around my wrists? They are … annoying.”